Haunt
by Arugentine
Summary: Helmut never stops betraying himself. PostSuiko4. Troy x Helmut, because the Japanese fanart got to me.
1. Part One

Disclaimer: Suikoden IV belongs to Konami.   
Notes: Japanese fanartists can convert you into being a supporter of _any_ pairing, I tell you. Anyway, this is the first of two parts. I'm hoping that posting this will actually motivate me to finish the second half.   
Warnings: Spoilers for end of game. Slash pairing. Uneditted, badly written, choppy. Jumps from past to present without warning.

**Haunt**

The Fortress of El-Eal lay in ruins, a mountain of stone and forgotten memories. Sometimes, Helmut could see its faint outline against the distant horizon, but often he didn't bother to look. That was a very long time ago, and these days it was overwhelmingly easy to pretend it never happened.

Kooluk had recently undergone a reform in government. It was peaceful now and he had almost forgotten what blood tastes like. He spent his time watching his father grow old. This town did not know much of war. They did not recognize his name and therefore did not recognize his betrayal. They only knew of him as the polite young man who taught the boys how to handle a sword for the local militia.

"This quiet happiness is good for an old man," Colton said, sitting in the garden and watching things grow. "But isn't there something you still want to do before settling down like this?"

"Of course not, Father," said Helmut, looking in the direction of the sea, except there were clay walls and shingled roofs in the way.

"You know, I never would've imagined you becoming a housewife like this," said Hervey, when he and Sigurd occasionally dropped by. Even though Kooluk did not have an open-door policy, they visited often because last year on the first day of autumn, they sent Kika off on a small wooden boat with wildflowers tucked under her folded hands in a splendid burial at sea and there was no drink more guaranteed to send you into oblivion than Kooluk wine.

"It is only because I know you that I will not take offense to that statement," said Helmut.

"What he means to say," corrected Sigurd amiably, "is that it's surprising you can adjust to a normal life so well after all that happened. How is your father by the way?"

"He's doing very well, thank you," answered Helmut, and not talking about how, on restless nights, he pulled out the trunk from under his bed, ran shaking hands over the scuffed old armor and recalled days long ago when he was still a young soldier and believed in the wonder of the world.

Helmut was lucky in the fact that he had the uncanny ability to face circumstances with grace. He had listened to news of his father's capture with simple albeit sad acceptance, had surrendered his fleet to the opposing naval alliance with understanding calm. He withstood Hervey's violent antagonism when they fought as allies, and in an even greater feat, braved the pirate's dangerous sense of humor when they forged a surprising comradeship. (He would never forget Dario's murderous screech for the rest of his life.)

So, when he happened across a murmuring crowd in the middle of the central square and saw a face he could recognize at the center, he only needed to bite his tongue once to remind his heart to beat again. Nevertheless, it bled and he could taste iron. "Oh, you're here, Helmut!" said the baker's wife, turning and motioning him to come closer. "The fishermen said they found this man at sea. He's barely breathing. Nobody knows who he is."

It had been two years since Helmut watched, frightened and trembling, as Troy dueled and lost before cruel blue waters engulfed him. It had been nearly three since they last spoke to each other, sharing laughter over dining hall tables, because they used to be friends. Helmut remembered this and said, "I know who he is."

"Oh! Thank heavens! Then will you take him home?" the innkeeper asked hopefully.

Troy groaned, brows knitting together, and stilled. Helmut dropped to his knees, lifted Troy's wrist and found a weak but steady beat under his two fingers. The man's skin was cold and damp; his clothes, plain and coarse, were soaked and useless. Troy looked exhausted, like a man who hadn't slept well for a long time, and though the look of defeat was foreign on the familiar face, the fine and regal features were undeniable.

"Yes," said Helmut, feeling the sea breeze blow through his hair.

Colton was surprised when he answered the knocking that evening and found two people standing on the steps instead of one, but the shock died quickly. One was his son and one was like a son, so he opened the door wider and as they passed him, one dragging the other, he said in a quiet voice, "Welcome home."

"Come here, my boy," said Colton, pulling him by the elbow away from his training exercises, making the other men, with their sore and aching muscles, groan enviously.

Helmut, still a boy in shapeless and dull iron armor, stumbled and followed wordlessly as his graying father introduced him to a tall but kind-looking young man in black clothing and the insignia of the Kooluk navy sewn on to his tunic like a silver medal. "Hello, sir," said Helmut politely, and the man with the ebony hair smiled.

"Helmut, this is Commander Troy. Troy, this is my son, Helmut," said Colton proudly.

Helmut looked up and stared, wide-eyed and awestruck in the presence of the famed man. He felt strong hands guide him up as he was about to bow. Confusedly, "Sir?"

"We are all comrades here. There is no need for formalities," said Troy, when he was a soldier, and when he was unsurprisingly promoted to be captain of his own fleet, he repeated the words, his palms warm against Helmut's shoulders. "I am not surprised you were given the position, considering your skill," he also added, "but congratulations, Helmut." They went to the local inn and Helmut drank himself under the table, intoxicated with accomplishment and success.

"I'm glad," said Troy in a low voice that Helmut barely registered in his hazy mind, "that I have someone I can count on in this navy other than Colton now." Something cool and dry brushed his hair away from his face and touched his forehead, but he forgot it the next day.

He remembered the private confession years later, surrounded by enemy ships and the illusion of youthful invincibility long stripped away. "I will surrender peacefully to you," he said while his throat tightened, "but please, do no harm to my men."

A boy, a child with suffering and determined eyes, looked across the water, searched his face and asked him, "Why don't you join us?"

With Troy's words echoing hauntingly in his head – _someone I can count on_ – and the soldiers behind him looking hopefully at his unwavering back, he said, "Very well. I will join you." What did it matter? His father was gone, they would punish him if he returned defeated, and he had not spoken with Troy ever since they were assigned different missions at the beginning of this useless war.

Troy woke up four days later and as his fever finally passed, his skin lost its sickly pallor. It was mid-morning and he thought he was dreaming until he saw the clear blue of the sky. He had always dreamed in black and white. He saw Colton leaning worriedly over the bed, older and happier but much the same, and croaked aloud, "Did I die?"

Colton chuckled, removing the wet rag from his forehead and depositing it into the washbowl on the dresser. "Not quite yet, I'm afraid. This is a town near the coast, a little to the east of where El-Eal used to be."

"I thought you were dead."

"No," he laughed. "When I was captured, they tried to interrogate me, but I refused to answer. They were quite kind other than that, actually. You were the one closer to death, my boy. We found you when one of the fishermen reeled you in. How things change."

"We?" questioned Troy, struggling to sit, except a thin but forceful hand pushed him down.

"We. Stay in bed; you're not well yet," answered Helmut without meeting Troy's eyes, as he withdrew and helped Colton to stand. He followed his father out with the copper basin in hand before reappearing in the door. "You were unconscious in the marketplace. No one knew who you were except me and no one wanted to take you with them."

"No one?" said Troy.

Helmut swallowed the lump in his throat with strange difficulty and averted his eyes. "Well maybe some of the local girls. They really like foreigners." He crossed the room with careful, light steps, seating himself at the foot of the bed, and Troy could feel the mattress dip from the burden. "So I decided to spare you the hassle and took you home. Father was pleased."

"Why?" said Troy.

Helmut could feel his gaze, but adamantly stared out the window. "Well, because Father likes you."

"No, I mean, why did you really take me home?" asked Troy, watching as Helmut's fingers tightened into a fist, contorting the sheets with wordless ferocity. He was silent for a long time, and together they listened to quiet noise Colton made when he boiled water for tea.

"For old times' sake, I suppose," said Helmut finally. He stood and left the room.

Helmut possessed a relatively light frame, and even with the heavy metal of his breastplate and his sword weighing him down, he stumbled and fell onto the unforgiving wood floor from the sharp blow. While Sigurd held back his rampaging friend, Helmut mustered what dignity he had remaining and wiped the blood from his split lip impassively.

"The next time you want to pull your high chair act here," shouted the pirate, "just remember that you're on our side now, and you're in the same boat as we are! You can't pull your Kooluk shit anymore!" Sigurd loosened his grip and led his irate comrade away, casting a wary and unsympathetic glance over his shoulder.

Helmut braced himself against the wall, staggering to his feet and ignoring the attention they had attracted. As he inched towards his room, his sword hung and dragged like lead at his waist. Helmut locked the door behind him, shedding the heavy metal of his weaponry and armor on the flimsy table, and fell face-down on to the creaky bed with whining springs.

Folding his hands over the back of his head and drawing his knees to his chest, he wept open-mouthed into the pillow that smelled of crude soap and the salt of the sea until his shoulders stopped heaving, but the sting in his chest remained.

_I'm glad that I have someone I can count on._

"It was for my men! They were afraid!" shouted Helmut into his bed while his voice cracked with exertion and on the floor below him, Colton heard the familiar voice. Helmut imagined, with terrifying clearness, Troy's reaction after receiving letter after another of disappointing news. _Colton__'s been defeated and captured_, one said. _Helmut has defected to the other side,_ said the following one.

When he did receive those letters, Troy ran a weary hand through his dark hair and set the pieces of yellowing parchment down on the table as if they each weighed tons. "Leave me," he said slowly, dismissing the messenger with a curt nod. He turned and looked out the window at the round and mutely mocking moon, now both alone and abandoned.

Colton and his son survived on a modest income. They had neither the resources nor the space to accommodate a bedridden guest. Thankfully, Troy hadn't the appetite to eat most of the time, and he was only an inch or two taller than Helmut. He spent the next two weeks confined to bed and woke every morning to the sight of disheveled blankets and Helmut's sleeping clothes strewn messily across the room's floor.

"He leaves early," explained Colton when asked, setting the thin vegetable stew beside the man and wafting the steam away with his hand. "The boys help their fathers later in the day; they only have time to practice fighting before noon. Helmut usually returns around three."

"Does he always avoid his room after returning?" asked Troy off-handedly, but the slight edge of bitterness tasted rancid in his mouth. He took the hot bowl and set it on his lap, stirring it occasionally with the metal spoon. He winced after burning his tongue on the first sip.

"I think," Colton admitted somberly while handing him a glass of water, "that he is ashamed to face you. I doubt he regrets his choice, but in theory, he is a traitor. To Kooluk, if not to himself."

Troy looked intently at the wall. "I am not Kooluk," he said.

"Ah," nodded Colton. "But in his mind, you are one and the same. When he left Kooluk, he believed he left you. I think that perhaps he needs you to tell him that it's not true. When I was aboard the enemy ship, he needed a month to muster enough courage to face me, even though he knew I was there long before then and bullied the cooks into giving me more rations during meals." Colton smiled fondly. "Helmut, at times, is awfully slow."

Troy spent the entire morning urging his numb legs back into cooperation. By the time Helmut returned, Troy had borrowed some of his larger clothing and stood waiting in the hall while Colton tutored a neighboring nobleman's son in literature on the kitchen table. Helmut, about to bolt, stood with his hand on the rusting doorknob and shoulders tensed, the sun scorching his back.

Troy leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Let's take a walk," he said softly, while Helmut gaped, bewildered, at the point of contact.

Bracing himself on the wooden railing, Helmut let the wind buffet his face as he leaned forward as far as he could without forfeiting balance. Troy watched, amused, with his arms crossed over his chest and his cape whipping like a flag over the endless sea. He reached out and grabbed the other man's wrist when a particularly strong gust threatened to blow Helmut into the water. "Be careful."

"Your ship is beautiful," said Helmut, undeterred. "If I ever become a captain, I want a ship like this too," he said appreciatively, craning his neck to look at the towering mast and the drawn black sails of their nation. The sun was above them in the cloudless sky and the water glittered. "It must be really nice, to be captain of such a lovely ship and reliable crew."

"You'll be a captain soon enough," reassured Troy while Helmut flushed. "They'd be fools not to promote you, considering your experience and adeptness."

"And then we will fight together," said Helmut.

Troy smiled. "And then we will fight together," he repeated.

When the war with the Southern Island Nations started, Helmut had become a captain, but while he was assigned a defensive position to guard the fortress, Troy was sent out to further the imperialistic ideals of a fat and slovenly governor who sat on a golden chair and knew nothing of the sea. For days and weeks, Helmut waited by the coastline, alertly, attentively, and then apathetically for a sign of enemy ships that would not come.

Then news of Troy's fleet struggling reached him, and a strange mismatched set of ships under different flags approached from the blue horizon before he had time to think. They overpowered him with a wide array of rune cannons and strange tactical maneuvers he had never seen while his men began to panic. Kooluk, he realized, was surely doomed, but for now, he was one who was done for.

"I will surrender peacefully to you, but please, do not harm my men," he said.

"Why don't you join us?" asked the boy with a True Rune.


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer**: Suikoden IV belongs to Konami.   
**Notes**: Second half.   
**Warnings**: Same as before. BL pairing. 

**Haunt 2**

"They sell very good apple pie there," said Helmut, pointing to a little corner shop with a vividly painted canopy and a colorful window display. "Would you like to try some?"

"No, thank you," said Troy, smiling as a pair of children chased each other across the street. They seemed to pass a Very Good Place every few seconds. Inwardly, Troy was of the opinion that Helmut wanted to stuff his mouth as often as possible, as to avoid conversation.

"Ah, okay." They passed a string of clothing stores, decorated with displays of foreign pattern textiles, and a small trio of girls ran up to them, straw baskets hanging on their arms. "Good day, Miss McConnell, Miss Sternway, Miss Hill," greeted Helmut politely, as they curtsied and batted their long eyelashes flirtatiously. "How are you all today?"

"Hello, Sir Helmut!" said Sternway, her voice high and light. "We're very well, thank you! We were wondering if you could introduce us to your friend! We haven't seen him since the time at the marketplace, and he wasn't capable of speech then!" Hill and McConnell bobbed their heads in agreement, ruffling their auburn curls while they cast surreptitious glances at the tall stranger.

"Of course," said Helmut affably. "Ladies, this is Troy. Troy, this is Miss McConnell, Miss Sternway and Miss Hill. They live in the boarding house up Saunders Street."

"A pleasure to meet you, ladies," said Troy with a dashing low bow at the waist.

The girls tittered happily and blushed rosy pink. "Is he an old friend of yours, Sir Helmut?"

Troy gauged Helmut's face he pressed his lips together and sighed. Helmut could not reply because he did not know the answer. "Yes," said Troy firmly, before Helmut could offer any excuse, answering the question they were asked and the question in the thin, quivering line of Helmut's mouth. Helmut gawked. "We are good friends."

"Oh, that's lovely!" said Miss Hill, clapping her gloved hands together. "Sir Helmut's always such a loner, but now he has someone to talk to! I'm glad you have a friend here, Sir Helmut!"

Helmut scuffed the cobbled street with the heel of his worn black boot and with a shy smile said, "Yes, me too." Troy's hand rested comfortably on his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck!" yelled Hervey in wonder. He had never been an eloquent person, and while that was somewhat charming, at times it fell a little short. He and Troy blinked at each other from across the small table, cheap porcelain cups and half-finished coffeecake between them. "When Helmut said he had a special guest I didn't think that it would be you! You're that Kooluk guy! I can't believe that you aren't dead!"

Sigurd coughed politely into his hand while elbowing Hervey roughly in the ribs. "It's very nice to see you," he offered neutrally, since Helmut was about to keel over with exasperation.

"I was expecting a woman or something, since Helmut was so hyper when…"

"I was not hyper, Hervey!" interrupted Helmut in an attractive shade of red.

"Hervey, shut up," scolded Sigurd. Hervey did, after his friend kicked him twice under the table and dug his fingers into his wrist. Helmut flashed him a thankful smile as he began to clear the table, sweeping the cake crumbs into his hands and depositing them outside while the pigeons flocked to the feast. "Anyway, it's very nice to meet you, sir. This is Hervey, and I am Sigurd."

"Likewise," said Troy cordially, reaching out to shake hands. He found Sigurd much easier to talk to than his louder, more boisterous partner. "My name is Troy."

"So you guys are even sleeping in the same room?" asked Hervey suddenly, and Helmut almost dropped the teapot in his arms, except Troy reached out to steady him. The brown-haired pirate looked from one man to the other and raised his brows. "Hmm."

Later, Helmut apologized sheepishly after closing the door behind the two pirates as they returned to the Grishend. "Sorry about that," he said, "Hervey gets out of hand sometimes."

Troy, resting his chin in the cup of his hand, shrugged as he finished his tea and returned the white cup to its saucer. "I didn't mind."

"Hervey?" clarified Helmut.

Troy smiled. "I meant what Hervey was teasing about, but no, I didn't mind him either."

Troy followed him the next morning to the empty plot of land where young teenagers were lounging and poking each other with brittle branches. As they padded across the sandy floor, the boys sorted themselves into an uneven line and straightened their backs with comical sternness. "Good morning," said Helmut as they bowed. "This is my friend, Sir Troy. He's come to help today, and he's very talented with the sword."

"Better than you, sir?" asked a short, plump child with freckle-mottled cheeks.  
"Yes," Helmut said while Troy shook his head. Helmut laughed. "Yes, he is."

"Show us!" said a lanky redhead, and the others began to cheer in agreement. Two of the boys ran off to the shed in the corner and returned with an old but usable sword, shoving it relentlessly into Troy's hands despite his protests. "Please show us!" they said excitedly, "We've never seen a real swordfight before."

While Helmut sighed exaggeratedly, Troy laughed at their enthusiasm, stepping back and drawing the worn weapon from its leather sheath. "Draw your sword, Helmut!" he called good-naturedly, earning himself a sharp, reprimanding glare. "Let us show them a 'real' swordfight, then – one worth of our reputations!"

Outnumbered, Helmut drew his Officer's Sword. "Are you sure you haven't gotten rusty over the years, Troy?" he asked flightily.

The last time they dueled, Helmut was still in naval school, and he had lost spectacularly to the prodigy. Now, in the cool morning air, they circled and clashed until their limbs creaked in protest and in one last lunge, Helmut charged, dodged Troy's rapid parry and let the sharp blade of his sword hover near his friend's adam's apple.

The boys, having grown silent in attention, burst into cheering, rushing to the two men. Helmut set down his weapon and fell wearily to the floor, closing his eyes against the too-bright sun. His heart trumpeted in his ears and his laughter escaped from him in short, breathless bursts. "I told you that I wasn't better at this," he heard Troy shout, surprisingly close to his ear.

"You're just out of practice!" he shot back, feeling light-headed and once again young.

Placing his boots beside him, he stretched his bare feet in front of him before burrowing them underneath the warm sand. Troy watched, amused, but kept his shoes on. Together, they looked out at the far-stretching sea, and the children playing at the shore while their parents watched with a careful eye. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Troy said, "I want apple pie." Ultimately, the Very Good Apple Pie Place really did have very good apple pie.

Helmut laughed, elbowing his friend in the arm. "I asked you if you wanted some while passing by, but you said no. So this is what you get for not listening to me."

"Fine, fine," Troy conceded, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He faced forward again, breathing in the air that smelled of seawater. "I like that apple pie," he said quietly. Helmut glanced at him discreetly, but did not respond. "I like this town, and its people; they are the kindest people I have ever met."

"Even the Saunders Street girls?" chuckled Helmut.

Troy smiled, but it was tense. "Even the Saunders Street girls," he clarified. "There are people here…that make me want to stay for the rest of my life, however long it may be."

They did not speak for a while, and Helmut was the one to break the silence. "A confession?" he joked, painting an uneasy smile on to his uneasy face.

Troy turned to him. "Yes," he answered seriously. The expression dropped off of Helmut's face. He looked, instead, accepting but somewhat scared, like a lone man standing at the edge of a great wave, threatening to encompass him, though he had no way to resist. Tentatively, he reached out, but Troy took his hand and returned it to his side, placing it lightly on the sand. "But," added the black-haired man, tearing his gaze away, back to the unwavering sea that could not give him raw look like that. "I cannot stay here."

He stood up and walked back.

Troy heard the footsteps advance, felt the other's presence in the candlelit room and smelled the mugs of warm milk in Helmut's hands. "Are you planning to leave soon?" asked Helmut lightly, as if the thought had just cropped up, but he had caught Troy looking wistfully out the window at the cerulean distance many times. Troy was a child of the sea.

Without turning, Troy traced senseless patterns on the cool glass and gratefully accepted the cup Helmut handed to him. "I wanted to visit all the Island Nations," he confessed. "I figured, they must look different when I'm not trying to destroy their fleets. I went to Iluya. We destroyed it, but they're slowly rebuilding. I wanted to go to Nay, but there was a storm." There was a storm that destroyed his ship and a group of fishermen found him.

"No one recognized you?" asked Helmut carefully. Their shoulders brushed and the warmth from their cups seeped into their hands, welcome respites from the evening chill.

"People," said Troy, "try to forget about the details of war as soon as they can."

"So you want to go back to traveling now?"

Troy lowered his eyes. "Yes."

"Oh," said Helmut, biting his lip and staving off selfishness. He had his father, his peaceful town, his relaxing and uneventful, boring life. He did not need the sea like Troy did. He did not thrive on its open air and the eternity in its waves. He would never forget how to kill a man, but he could learn to adapt to this normal setting. He had been learning for the past few years.

"Helmut," called Troy, voice like silk. Rough fingers crept up Helmut's jaw, guiding his head up. He found Troy's face sullen and searching, and his fingers weakened until he had to set the glass mug down on the dusty windowsill. "I wanted to ask you," he said, their faces barely an inch apart, and Helmut could feel his breath on his mouth. "Would you come with me?"

Helmut did not answer questions he didn't know. Instead, he reduced the distance between them because there was no space for words in a kiss. They fell back onto the bed when the wooden post hit the back of his knees and he did not worry until morning.

Colton observed the morning's events over the rim of his cup, half-filled with cooling tea, and grew tired of letting the two skirt around each other by two 'o'clock. When Helmut returned from training, forehead glowing with the sheen of perspiration, Troy was upstairs pretending to read. Their floors were thin and their walls were thinner. Colton set down his mug, folding wrinkled hands together. "Sit down," he commanded.

"Father?" asked Helmut curiously, sliding boneless into a chair.

"Are you going with him?" Colton was an expert in the spoken language, but he knew that if he danced around the words, Helmut would only run away through the spaces that metaphors and lengthy introductions left. In his old age, sound was a sense that had not yet abandoned him, and he heard the rustle of page-turning stop on the second floor.

"With who?" attempted Helmut. He flicked his eyes towards the stairs and fidgeted with the frayed leather bindings around the hilt of his sword. Helmut only knew when he was trapped if it was a matter of war. He remained clueless about the ropes that tied people helplessly together, about the strings that fathers knew how to pull like expert puppeteers. Colton sat amused, feeling as though he were once again looking down into the shy round face of his barely grown child.

"Are you?" Troy asked, appearing in the door with his pretense of a book tucked under his arm.

Colton picked up his cup and sipped lightly. "He is."

"He is?" repeated Troy, somewhat surprised.

"I am?" echoed Helmut, wide-eyed. "Father, I can't just get up and leave you alone here…"

"You don't want to?" said Colton, turning sharp eyes that demanded honesty on the man across the wooden table. "I am fully capable of tending to myself and in the doubtful case that I should need assistance, you know as well as I do that we have wonderful neighbors who would offer in a heartbeat." Helmut started under the intense scrutiny, and ducked his head for refuge, but he did not say a thing, duty and hope warring in his chest, suffocating his voice.

"Are you?" Troy repeated.

"I…" Helmut stuttered, as he was kissed, "I am."

Placing one hand on the back of the chair, Helmut peered at the yellowing map from over Troy's shoulder. In the margin was a list of the Island Nations in small, neat handwriting. The boat lurched as it left the dock, but the line Troy drew across 'Na-Nal' was impeccably straight. The dull clinking of chains echoed from outside as the anchor was drawn. Helmut pointed to a small island off the coast of Gaien, north of Middleport. "Just Razril, then?" Helmut asked. "And then we will have gone to all of them."

Troy nodded, strangely quiet.

Frowning at the back of his head, the other man said, "What's wrong?"

The former captain set down his pen and placed the freed hand over Helmut's loose fist, still resting over the Western side of the sea. He looked at the door, face unreadable and betraying nothing. The floor swayed with the characteristic rocking of open water. It took him three minutes to speak. "After Razril," he began slowly, "Are you going to go home?"

Bending over, Helmut looped his arms around Troy's neck, his right palm resting lightly above the other man's heart. He could feel it beating as he pressed his cheek against the captain's. Surprised, Troy gave him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, further movement obstructed by their position. "After Razril," said Helmut, taking the map and tossing it on to the table, "I will not have to go back to my Father in order to be home."

Troy untangled Helmut's arms and locked their hands together, standing. "A confession?"

Helmut smiled. "An offer."

Troy laughed, leaning forward to put their foreheads together. "I accept."


End file.
